


Blind Panic

by WhoGroovesOn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blindfolds, Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PTSD Sherlock, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safeword Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoGroovesOn/pseuds/WhoGroovesOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock and John attempt some light bondage after Sherlock's return, with unexpected results for both parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Panic

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains mentions of past rape/non con while it is brief I thought I should warn here as well.
> 
> Thank you to roane for being beta for this fic.

Sherlock gracefully stretched himself lengthwise along his bed. He bowed his back, flexed and curled long toes, arched his neck, displaying as much of himself for John as possible. He was stripped nude at John’s request, and was waiting for him to act.

They had been sitting on the sofa one night with Sherlock’s head in John’s lap when John had spoken up.

“Sherlock. Would you be up for something a little… more, tonight?” John stumbled a bit over asking. Asking had always been his stumbling point before, but acting on it had always ended so exquisitely well. Sherlock had hummed an affirmation, knowing exactly what John was hinting at, and within the hour Sherlock was stripped naked, and John was watching from the foot of the bed as Sherlock rubbed his hard cock against the soft sheets of his bed. This was how it had started before. The room was slightly warm, and the dim little lamp on his bedside table cast a light yellow glow to the room in conjunction with the soft whitish light coming through the window’s curtains, creating a lovely comfortable environment to fuck in. Sherlock would wind himself up as John watched, until John told him to stop, then would come the soft ropes that had been stored away, and the blindfold, maybe the gag? Sherlock didn’t know. Once John told him to stop, John was in control.

John didn’t tell him to stop right away though. Sherlock was flexing and showing his long body for him, but rather than hum in approval, like he had years ago, he sat on the side of the bed and reached out, stroking over his back. John’s fingers traced the scars, knife wounds that left lightening trails of silvery scars across his upper back while small smatterings of cigarette burns made fireworks across his lower. Remnants of months running and being captured and escaping and surviving, while one by one pawns fell before him. John’s finger traced the particularly large bolt of a knife wound down his side,

“Do you really want to do this, Sherlock?” 

“Would you have asked if the scars weren’t there?” Sherlock said, annoyed that his brain wasn’t already beginning to slow and quiet under John’s ministrations.

“Yes!” John laid a palm on Sherlock’s shoulder, “Its important to me that you want this”

“Yes, all right? I want it!” Sherlock snarled turning his head on the pillow to glare up at John.

“Alright,” John rubbed a hand over Sherlock’s cheek “what’s your safeword?” He asked.

Sherlock huffed and rolled over to face him.

“Jumper,” He had never had to use the safeword before, John was, for the most part, fairly tame when they had played like this before, light bondage, maybe some playful swatting, a little rougher sex maybe, nothing so extreme that Sherlock had ever come close to using the word, but it made John happy, so he had one. John clenched his jaw at the word.

“Need a new one,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry Sherlock, but can you pick a new one?” he asked laying a hand on Sherlock’s knee, rubbing it and causing Sherlock’s brain to jitter and cock to harden a little at the idea of that hand moving higher up his leg. Sherlock paused for a moment to think of something else simple to use.

“Pluto,” Sherlock said, corners of his mouth twitching upwards. John snorted with laughter.

“If that works for you,” He chuckled, getting back up off the bed. “Say it again.” John ordered as he went to get the box where their toys were stored.

“Pluto,” Sherlock rumbled, lowering his voice and watching John shiver a bit. He had started stroking himself a little, just a tease really to get back to full hardness again, and he let go a breathy groan as he circled under the glans with his thumb and forefinger.

“One more time,” John ordered, straightening up with a length of black rope in one hand and a blindfold in the other.

“Pluto,” Sherlock repeated, gaze flicking to the objects in John’s hands and feeling a small anticipatory shiver of his own run up his spine.

“Good, now, lie down on your belly, put your hands over your head, and don’t move,” He directed, watching Sherlock position himself as he told him to, crossing his wrists above his head and getting a little cheeky, spreading his legs wide and bowing his back for John to see his thick erection hard against his belly.

Sherlock heard the rustle of clothes being removed, jeans, jumper, and shirt at least, going by the separate items hitting the floor. So John was only in his pants, while he was stark naked.

John knelt on the bed beside him, and Sherlock turned to look at John’s almost naked body. John was wearing his ridiculous red pants, and Sherlock had an up close view of exactly the effect he was having on John, his erection straining against the confining material. John leaned forward over Sherlock, beginning to bind his wrists together before tying them to the slats of the headboard above. Sherlock took the opportunity to be a little disobedient, and pushed his head up to lick a wide stripe across the front of John’s pants. John startled and shuffled away, tapping Sherlock on the arse quickly as punishment.

“I said don’t move,” John barked. Sherlock just hummed in response, resting his chin on the pillow, chuckling and thrusting his hips a bit at the small sting before stilling. He pulled at the binding on his wrists, cotton rope, soft but durable. John had taken pains to not make the knot too tight but he was definitely not slipping out of it.

John took that moment to straddle Sherlock’s waist, sitting on his hips and pinning him down. He dangled the blindfold in front of Sherlock’s face before he slipped the band over his head and the world went black.

Sherlock could feel and hear John shifting around him, the sliding of the drawer for the lube, and the faint plop of it hitting the sheets near his hip. John’s weight on his back was grounding. John scooted back so that he could lie down the length of Sherlock’s back with his penis along the groove of his arse. John began licking and sucking at his scars, the random contact to sensitive spots making his skin twitch and jump below John’s mouth. A light pleasurable buzz was forming in Sherlock’s head as he sank into the submissive place below John. 

John moved upwards and nipped at his neck with his teeth, running his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides as he whispered, “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” directly in his ear, and sucked on the tender skin just below it, “Scars. And. All.” John said, punctuating each word with a kiss along the long pale neck stretched out before him. He was rutting slowly against Sherlock’s bare arse, Sherlock feeling a small damp spot where John’s clothed dickhead sat. Sherlock wanted to reach back and pull the irritating pants down so John’s cock could slide between his buttocks properly, but he couldn’t.

John seemed to notice Sherlock’s annoyance and pulled back, shifting away completely and leaving Sherlock to lie naked and exposed again. He could hear John shuffling behind him, but otherwise there was no contact between them. Then it all went quiet for a moment. He could hear John breathing, knew he was still nearby. John must have been staring at him, thinking about what he would do next. Sherlock could almost feel John’s eyes roving over his marred back, and, for the first time, Sherlock actually felt a dart of self-consciousness.

Sherlock’s mind began to wander, not focusing on much of anything, other than the feeling of the rope on his wrists, the blindfold’s fabric against his cheeks, and the bed sheets against his still hard cock. He rutted his hips gently against the bed, trying not to move as much as possible, but wanting that little bit of increased stimulation. He didn’t realize John had moved, so focused on the small pings of pleasure he was getting, until there was suddenly breathing next to his ear again and John’s voice, gravelly with arousal.

“I’m going to fuck you Sherlock.” John’s hands were suddenly on his arse, the skin smacking sharply under his palms in the quiet room, spreading him open. John’s bare prick slid between his cheeks, slicked up with lube. It slid easily over Sherlock’s hole, not penetrating, just the underside ghosting over it now and then as John bore down and rutted against him again.

Sherlock couldn’t see John, feeling the rough thrusts of a cock frighteningly close to his unprepared anus. Rather than pleasure at the roughness of it, little flickers of a recent time, when it had turned from rough into agonizing flittered across his eyes.

“John,” Sherlock moaned, reminding himself that, yes that was John behind him, his hands pushing his slightly stinging arse cheeks together around his cock.

“Hmm, oooh, Sherlock you’ve got a great arse,” John groaned above him, his voice re-grounding Sherlock fractionally against the resurfacing unpleasant memories, before pulling away finally with another small smack to one cheek. Sherlock jumped a bit that time, the lovely quiet buzz building in his head stopping abruptly again at the small pain. The contact left briefly and Sherlock heard the pop of the lube bottle this time as John started slicking something, hopefully his fingers. John wouldn’t hurt him he knew that, but unwelcome images were beginning to trickle into his head of being tied up in dirty stinking cells.

Sherlock was beginning to pant, feeling sweat begin to bead on his forehead, when John began to pull at his hip with one hand, “Come on, up on your knees, Sherlock.” Sherlock drew his knees up under his body, presenting his cock and bollocks to John again as well. Cool lubed fingers carefully probed at Sherlock’s crack and pressed at his perineum. Small tendrils of pleasure were curling up Sherlock’s spine at the contact; but were muted as he tried to repeat, _this is John_ to himself, trying to repress the unwanted images attempting to return, and enjoy the renewed intimacy with his lover. He had loved this before; they had penetrated each other with fingers and he had loved it, gotten off on it too.

John reached down with his other hand and started stroking Sherlock’s cock, still hard and ready below him. Sherlock hissed at the contact, pushing into the hand eagerly to take his mind off other things, moaning lightly until John reminded him with another sharp swat to his backside, “I didn’t say you could move.” And the pain took him out of the pleasurable buzz again.

“Or maybe you want me to tie your legs down too?” John ground out, leaning down and nipping at the pale flesh of Sherlock’s arse.

Sherlock shook his head against the pillow, pressing his shoulders down more and his arse up for John, “No, sir, no more rope,” he pleaded, his voice breathy as John resumed stroking him.

“Don’t move until I tell you to, and we won’t need them,” John crooned, pushing lube covered fingers up against Sherlock’s hole and just rubbing slow circles around the tight ring of muscle. He began to push and his middle finger slid into the second knuckle easily. Sherlock groaned at the slow slide of that finger in and out, no pain, just an easy and familiar stretch. The buzz came back as John continued to murmur encouragements to him. His breath hitched as John teased around his prostate, not applying any direct pressure, rubbing slowly around the gland. Sherlock was straining not to move and rock his hips with the pleasure shooting up his spine; this was what he wanted, the haze of pleasure and to know that he was making John happy. Two fingers pushed in and Sherlock winced a bit at the burn of the stretch, but tried to relax into it as John continued the slick push and pull in and out, tapping lightly against his prostate to watch as Sherlock twitched and moaned into the pillow.

“God I want you,” John groaned, pulling his fingers out and adding more lube, pressing the slick into his hole with two fingers again before adding a third. Sherlock hissed, gasping and grinding his forehead into the pillow as that third finger stung more. He bit his lip as a flash of grungy walls and a much larger man with his cock out and his fingers on his arse flickered clearer in his mind.

“I need you, need you now,” John ground out thrusting with the three fingers in Sherlock’s hole until the motion was a smooth slide again. Sherlock was still gasping, his brain now projecting a continuous stream of large fingers breaching him, and pain, a massive cock, and agony and a hand on his neck pinning him down. John pulled out, and there was a momentary loss of contact as Sherlock distantly heard the tear of a condom wrapper and the pop of the lube cap. Then there was a blunt pressure at his anus, a hand stroking up and down the line of his back. Sherlock tried to breathe properly, tried to shake his head clear of the invasive memories that refused to back down.

John pushed against his slick hole and groaned as the head popped in, the rest of his girth sliding easily in one hard thrust. Sherlock felt every inch of John pushing in and his breath caught, the rough motion pushing him over the edge. John became a burly sweaty guard, huge cock pistoning into him as one hand dug finger shaped bruises into one hip and the other crushed his face into the disgusting mat in his cell.

“No…” He mumbled caught in the memory, as John slowly pulled out to roughly thrust in again, starting up a rhythm. John draped himself across Sherlock’s back mouthing up the bumps of his spine.

“You can move now,” John grunted behind Sherlock’s ear, nipping at he shell and pushing himself back up with a hand between Sherlock’s shoulder blades. Sherlock bucked instantly against the restraining hand on his neck, trying to push up onto his elbows, pulling at the ropes binding his wrists. He rubbed his face against the nearest surface, trying to remove the blindfold covering his eyes. His eyes were watering, he could feel tears leaking into the fabric over them.

“John, John,” he grunted trying to get John’s attention. Safeword! What was his safeword?

“Ooooh yes, say my name,” John groaned pushing his hand up into Sherlock’s hair and tugging slightly.

“Pla-plant… planet… Pluto!” Sherlock cried, trying to work out the word as John continued to buck into him, pinning his head while he reached around to grab at Sherlock’s softened penis.

John stopped moving immediately, leaning back, taking his hand off Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock felt him begin to pull out again, “Pluto” he said again, panting hard against the pillow as he continued to tug at his bound wrists.

“Shh, its okay, we’re done,” John told him as his cock slipped free of Sherlock’s slightly reddened hole.

“John. John I need.” He panted, arching his back and dropping his arse as he pulled.

“Okay, I’m here, you’re okay, just one moment.” John was shuffling on his knees to Sherlock’s side.

“Now John!” Sherlock shouted, his heart rate still skyrocketing and starting to feel a little sick.

John was on his wrists, pulling whatever safety cord it was that undid the knots, He gently took Sherlock’s wrists and unwound the rope, the skin beneath chafed from the pulling. Sherlock pulled his wrists out of John’s hands and tight to his chest, curling up in a ball in the middle of the bed, breathing hard. John quickly pulled the blindfold off Sherlock’s head as well, tossing it away and grabbing Sherlock’s tearstained face.

“Sherlock, I need you to listen to me. You are fine. You are in 221b Baker Street in London. You are safe, and I am here with you.” John told him calmly as tears continued to run down the planes of Sherlock’s face, his eyes still glazed over as his frightened sobbing and shaking continued. John let go of Sherlock to reach for the duvet bunched up at the foot of the bed; he threw it over his still naked curled form, keeping his head uncovered. He threw on his pants again and sat down at the head of the bed. Sherlock recoiled the moment he saw the red underwear, pulling away and beginning to hyperventilate. 

“Bleeding, oh oh fuck… ‘m bleeding.” Sherlock stammered out eyes wide and lost in whatever nightmare his big brain was conjuring in front of his eyes. John stripped again at the reaction, tossing the red underwear out of sight, and just settled for getting under the duvet with him and gathering him in his arms.

“Shhhh, Sherlock you’re okay, calm down, shhh, you’re not bleeding, you’re good, perfectly fine.” John crooned softly, stroking his hair and face gently. He continued to murmur soothing words as he placed light kisses to Sherlock’s forehead and held onto him.

“I’m-I’m sorry John,” he finally panted out, still shivering. The phrase almost didn’t sound right coming out of Sherlock’s mouth.

“Don’t apologize, not for this,” John murmured rocking his shivery lover and stroking his arms, thankful to have him mentally back in the flat and talking again.

“I-I don’t know what happened,” Sherlock mumbled, reaching up and scrubbing at his face weakly. He felt like all his joints were loose and rubbery. He felt numb, his mind sluggish and foggy. Usually Sherlock had a lovely buzz after they did this, he would be floating and satisfied. Instead he felt like he had be hit by a truck, like he was one large bruise and his mind was mush.

“You had a panic attack and safeworded out,” John told him rubbing over Sherlock’s cheekbones with his thumbs.

The past few minutes came rushing back to Sherlock then, and he felt the urge to get away. He pushed at John and started to get up, throwing away the duvet, and climbing over John on wobbly limbs.

“Sherlock?” Before John could really act Sherlock had stumbled into the loo and shut the door behind him.

“Sherlock!” John was up and after him knocking on the door, but all he got was the click of the lock, a brief hazy view of him through the frosted glass, and the scroll of the shower curtain.

John sighed, resting his forehead against the glass for a moment. He didn’t hear the shower running. John looked over at the bed, black rope still on the headboard, discarded lube and condom, and the black blindfold.

John quickly straightened up the bed, tossing the bondage items out of sight for the time being. He threw on a pair of pajama pants and grabbed Sherlock’s blue dressing gown off the hook. John picked up the bottle of water he had set aside on the side table just in case Sherlock had needed it afterwards, and stepped out into the hall where the other door to the toilet was. He tested the handle and found that Sherlock hadn’t locked it. He rapped on it lightly as he opened it.

“Sherlock, I’m coming in,” he announced, stepping inside. The lights were off in the tiny bathroom; the only light coming in was the soft yellowy light from the lamp in the bedroom. Sherlock was lying on his side in the bottom of the tub, wrapped in a towel with his cheek pressed against the mint green porcelain. He was shivering again, still naked under the towel. John set down the water and dressing gown as he knelt next to the tub. He reached out and stroked Sherlock’s hair gently, the man only scrunched down more.

“Go away,” Sherlock grumbled.

“You know I can’t do that,” John replied, “Something went wrong, I understand that much, but punishing yourself over it isn’t going to help.” John told him, still petting his hair.

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, blinking up at John. “Why don’t we go back in there, get dressed, and relax. You just had a really stressful moment Sherlock, lying in a cold bathtub isn’t helping, is it?” Sherlock looked down again, taking a moment to try to think before he started to shift. John smiled as Sherlock sat up, bunching the towel in his lap self-consciously.

“Here, drink some of this first,” John offered him the water bottle. 

“I’m fine.” Sherlock protested, taking the bottle anyway.

“Drink,” John ordered sternly, getting up off the hard tile to unlock the door to the bedroom and slide it open, letting more light in. He didn’t want to blind Sherlock by turning the main lights on.

Sherlock reluctantly sipped on the water, still shivering slightly, he set it down and started to get up on his own, and John was there as he realized just how weak kneed he was. John slung the dressing gown over Sherlock’s shoulders once he was out of the tub, Sherlock bundling it around himself without tying it.

John walked him into the bedroom and let him sit on the edge of the bed while he rummaged for proper pants and pajamas. He helped him get into the garments and offered the water again. They were both silent throughout it all. Sherlock was tucked into bed with the covers pulled up under his ears by the time John had dug an old worn shirt out of the drawers to sleep in. John lifted the sheets and climbed in as well, Sherlock budging over for him. They lay like that facing each other in silence for a while, neither of them going to sleep. John finally broke the silence.

“Can I touch you?” He asked. Sherlock’s eyebrows rose and he seemed to bodily shrink back. “No, I mean can I hold you? Just cuddling, nothing more.”

Sherlock made the first move, John felt him reach out tentatively and touch his upper arm, just smoothing his palm up and down slowly. John mirrored him carefully reaching out and stroking his back. They gradually came together again, Sherlock wrapping John up in his arms like he was holding a large teddy bear, and burying his nose in his hair, just breathing John in. John had his arms wrapped around Sherlock’s chest and was just stroking up and down the length of his spine, feeling the slight ridges of scar tissue mapped across it. Sherlock was still shaking very slightly, a light tremor now and then that would increase just to the point of detection before he felt Sherlock clench and cut it off again. They lay there quiet and trying to relax for a little while, the darkness outside 221b only getting darker as the night progressed, with the whitish lights of street lamps providing only a faint glow into the room beyond the lamp.

“Things happened to me while I was away,” Sherlock mumbled finally, his arms tightening around John’s ribcage. John took the sudden confession in stride; if Sherlock wanted to talk he would let him.

“It wasn’t all just about falling off a roof and hiding for a couple years,” he continued, bringing his hand up to hold the back of John’s head, keeping his forehead pressed to one pale shoulder while he just breathed John in for a moment.

“I know,” John replied, keeping up the slow stroking along Sherlock’s back, the scars painting more of a picture than Sherlock was probably willing to share.

“No you don’t, I never told you about it, how could you possibly know?” Sherlock murmured sounding fractionally like his usual self. John chuckled, deliberately tracing the web of scars over Sherlock’s shoulders.

“I may not be a walking brain like you Sherlock, but I’ve seen your body, I’ve seen you react to things, I can deduce my way from there,” He said. “You don’t need to tell me anything right now if you don’t want to though,” he added, squeezing Sherlock closer and kissing the shoulder in front of him chastely.

“I was captured, multiple times, sometimes beatings would happen, a few times though there were worse things,” Sherlock said, his arms tightening around John. “I thought I had deleted those things.” He drew in a deep shuddering breath, the trembling worsening a bit momentarily under John’s hands, before Sherlock decided he’d shared too much and started to untangle himself from John and roll over. 

“I didn’t know Sherlock, I’m so sorry,” John told him pressing up against his back and winding his arms around again to hold Sherlock to him. “What did I do to remind you?” he asked, kissing the back of Sherlock’s shoulder.

“The blindfold,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, Sherlock, I’m sorry, I should have left that off, we could have done something easier…”

“Don’t John, you couldn’t have known and I didn’t think it would have the effect that it did… I am just sorry I ruined the evening for you,” He said one large hand coming up to hold John’s against his chest.

“Sherlock, I pushed you too far. This is why you have a safeword.” John sat up a bit, pulling Sherlock over onto his back so he could look into his face again. Those blue eyes refused to meet his.

“Sherlock, look at me.” John put his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face, making him look up at him.

“The evening wasn’t ruined, if I had to choose between getting off and you feeling safe and comfortable you would win out every time,” John leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs. “Maybe we should have started slower…” John trailed off.

“I would not be adverse to another attempt in the future.” He finally leaned up and kissed John lightly on the lips, just a chaste brush really before he grabbed John’s upper arms and slowly rolled them so he was leaning over John.

“Maybe leave off the blindfold.” John chuckled, kissing him back a little more firmly.

“Mmm, yes that would be a sound idea,” Sherlock murmured as he leaned across John to flick the dim table lamp off, plunging them deeper into darkness, the glow of street lamps the only illumination left.

“Don’t think we’re done talking about this though,” John said as Sherlock re-settled with his head resting on John’s shoulder.

“Of course John, but for now sleep is in order, wouldn’t you agree?” He said a wide yawn garbling the words a bit.

“Of course love, we’ll talk more in the morning,” John said affectionately, stroking through dark curls. He stayed awake listening to the gentle snuffling of Sherlock falling asleep for a little while longer before he finally shuffled down a bit and dozed off, with one arm wrapped protectively around Sherlock’s chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please leave kudos and comments if you liked it.


End file.
